


If Convenient

by xxDustNight88



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 31 Days Writing Challenge, Arguing, Gen, One Shot, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26786155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxDustNight88/pseuds/xxDustNight88
Summary: John is tired of Sherlock's lack of understanding when it comes to calling him for a case.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16
Collections: 31 Days of Writing Challenge - Fall 2020





	If Convenient

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a hot minute since I write these two! I hope you enjoy their little spat! Happy reading! Much love, xxDustNight
> 
> Thank you to GaeilgeRua for letting me use her Grammarly subscription to beta this. Any other mistakes are definitely my own.
> 
> Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, quotes, and information belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC, and anyone else that may own any part of it. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.
> 
> Prompt: #31DaysOfWriting October 2nd: An Argument

One would think that John was used to Sherlock's needy nature by now, but there were still times that brought him to the brink of breaking. This was one of those times.

After a business than usual day at the clinic and a fussy, teething Rosie being rather tricky, John wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed for the night. He'd kept his own home after Mary had passed even though he still frequented 221B Baker Street. It was for times like this when all he needed was a night alone.

Only, that didn't appear to be the case this evening. After finally getting Rosie to sleep, John had just flopped onto the bed when his mobile chimed. Groaning, John pulled it from his pocket, hoping it was Mike or Greg wanting to talk about football scores. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

Sherlock's name lit up the screen, causing a sinking feeling to settle in the pit of John's stomach. Sherlock rarely texted for anything other than a case, even when he did remember to check up on Rosie. He loved John's daughter as much as John and cared for her better than anyone ever expected. John and Molly suspected it was the ordeal with his sister that changed him.

_I'm in dire need of your assistance._

_It can be construed as an emergency._

Knowing that if he ignored the texts, they would only grow more insistent, John decided to text Molly and see if she was still awake. It wasn't late, but there was a chance she'd worked a long shift. Hell, there was a chance she was working the night shift. There was reason to believe this was anything but an emergency, but to Sherlock, everything was an emergency if it involved a case he couldn't solve.

Fifteen minutes later, John was racing toward Baker Street in a cab. Molly was comfortable on his sofa, the baby monitor sitting next to her in case Rosie stirred. Knowing that tomorrow was going to be hell, John fiddled with his mobile as the cabbie drove them further from the comfort of his bed and closer to what was bound to be

_If convenient._

Sherlock always added that after the fact. He knew somehow that John would choose to come running to his aid, the desire for a battle still ringing in his blood after all this time. He used that to his advantage, and even though John was fully aware of it, he folded each and every time. Sighing as the cabbie pulled up in front of his former residence, John pocketed his mobile

As he climbed the stairs to 221B, John yawned and hoped that whatever this case was that it would be sorted quickly so he could go home. All was silent in the flat as he entered and looked around for Sherlock. He found him sitting in the kitchen, a stack of papers surrounding him at the table.

John stood in the doorway, waiting for the consulting detective to acknowledge him. When nothing was said, he cleared his throat, finally earning Sherlock's attention. He shrugged with just his hands. "Well," he shouted. "I'm here. What's the emergency?"

Sherlock gestured to the prodigious stack of papers. "Mrs Hudson is leaving Baker Street in my name. I need help with this paperwork."

John blinked, as Sherlock's words settled around them, leaving the room in silence. Then, anger flared inside his chest. "You called me over here at half-past ten to help fill out some legal papers?"

"It's tedious," Sherlock replied, making a face.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, John tried very carefully not to lose his mind. "This is something that could have waited until tomorrow, yeah?"

"I did say, if convenient."

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" John broke, at last, his voice rising and cheeks flushing with anger. "I was ready for bed! You could have asked me to come tomorrow. Mrs Hudson isn't leaving this Earth just yet… Why would you drag me all the way here for something so small?"

"The papers need my signature-" Sherlock started to say, but John interrupted him.

"A seven, Sherlock. You and I agreed that you wouldn't call me here this late at night unless the problem was seven." He gestured between them and carried on talking. "Just like you once told me you wouldn't leave this flat for anything less than a seven. This paperwork… Not a seven!"

"If you lived here, John, then there would be no issue," Sherlock said smoothly, rising from his chair to stride into the living room. He swiftly picked up his violin and began to play what sounded like an annoying song.

"No," John said, vehemently shaking his head. "We both agreed it was better for me to remain where I was at. Rosie and I need our space, and it's far too dangerous here for a young child."

Continuing to play, Sherlock said, "Mrs Hudson offered to remodel flat C."

"Great, because every time I walk in there, I want to be reminded of when Moriarty was playing games with you," John shot back, crossing his arms in a huff.

"That was ages ago, John," Sherlock said, adjusting the violin and changing the tune. "It's becoming increasingly difficult to get you here." He paused his playing to think for a second before adding, "Even for a _seven_."

"I have a child, Sherlock!" John all but yelled, throwing his arms into the air. "I also have a regular job at the clinic. It's not like how it used to be with us. I have obligations."

Lowering his violin, Sherlock gave John a pointed stare. "Is helping a friend in need no longer any obligation for you?"

"You know what? Forget it," John seethed, turning away from Sherlock and heading to the door. Sometimes there was no talking to this man. "I'm done with this conversation. Fill out the paperwork on your own, or better yet, give Mycroft a call. I'm sure he'd love to be pulled out of bed for a pile of paperwork."

John didn't bother to give Sherlock another glance, so he missed the look of remorse that had flickered through the man's sea-coloured eyes. By the time John returned home, it was well after midnight and Molly was asleep on the sofa. He didn't bother to wake her, knowing that she would slip out on her own in the morning. Instead, he went upstairs, checked on Rosie, and then promptly fell face-first into his bed. He was asleep before he even had a chance to think about making amends with Sherlock.

* * *

The next morning while making breakfast, John heard his mobile ping in the living room. Making sure that Rosie was okay for the moment, he slipped away to check his messages. As he read, a smile crept its way onto his features. The messages were from Sherlock and an apology of sorts… As close as he would ever get to one for last night anyway.

_If convenient, I would like to take you and Rosie to lunch today._

_If inconvenient, perhaps dinner?_

Chuckling to himself, John typed off a reply and then returned to Rosie. Kissing the top of her head, he asked, "How would you like to see uncle Sherlock for lunch today?"

Rosie squealed in delight and made a mess of her scrambled egg. Full-on laughing now, John ruffled her curls and returned to his own breakfast. He and Sherlock may not always get along, but the ornery man was his best mate, and they would be okay in the end.

Their friendship would always be convenient, even if they no longer lived together.

**Author's Note:**

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